


don't be scared; it's only love

by forcolorfulskies



Category: One Day at a Time (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Detox, F/M, Family, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Sobriety, to hopefully come later on ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 16:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcolorfulskies/pseuds/forcolorfulskies
Summary: Pushing the throw blanket aside, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom, the sounds of Schneider vomiting getting louder and clearer. She pushes the door open further, staying in the doorway as her eyes immediately go to where she knows he’ll be. To where he’s been multiple times this night...A night of detox starts them down a path they both might be too hesitant to take. Starts right after Drinking and Driving, mostly following canon, and continues post s3.





	don't be scared; it's only love

**Author's Note:**

> So i'm finally doing this!  
> This first chapter is mostly about schneider detoxing. I did some light research and am by no means an expert on the detoxification process, its effects, or safe detoxing practices. Please take everything with a grain of salt. Also, since I'll be using Spanish that may not be so common, I'll be adding footnote translations at the end notes of the chapters in case anyone wants to open the page on a separate window and have that open while they read. (Hope it helps.)  
> Anyways, Hope ya'll like it!!

The transition from sleep to consciousness comes gradually then all at once. She blinks, taking in the sight of the couch’s backrest before turning over and taking in the rest of her surroundings.

Schneider’s room is barely lit by the lamp next to his bed; the warm, orange light casting dark shadows on more than half of the large room while one corner is illuminated by the white light coming from the adjoining bathroom. The door is halfway open, allowing not only light but also sound to travel almost unhindered into the room. And she becomes aware of what awoke her.

Pushing the throw blanket aside, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom, the sounds of Schneider vomiting getting louder and clearer. She pushes the door open further, staying in the doorway as her eyes immediately go to where she knows he’ll be. To where he’s been multiple times this night.

The fact that the scene is already familiar doesn’t make it easier to watch. It just makes her chest ache a bit as she takes it in again. And her mind wanders to when Alex had called her, and to when she first found him almost 12 hours ago.

…

_“Can you stand up?”_

Those had been her only words to him, after taking in the sight. He looked a mess; pants-less, hair sticking in every direction, and an uncomfortable grimace on his face as he stayed huddled on the floor against one of the washing machines. There was a fleeting stench of vomit in the air and she had to swallow hard to stomp down on the anger that rose within her. _Not here_. She wouldn’t leave room for a conversation here. There would be opportunity for that later. When her mom and the kids were gone and it was just her and him. When he’d be more sobered up and had the ability to explain _why the hell_ her kid was so visibly shaken like that. So she bit her tongue on all the things she had wanted to say, and let those words be the only ones that left her lips for the time being.

It took a moment for him to even recognize her presence, head turning to face her and eyes barely opening against the harsh LED lights of the room. He stared up at her for a moment, and she practically challenged him to argue with her now, putting on her best ‘ _C’mon. I dare you. Watch what happens._ ’ look that she gives her kids and occasionally her mother. He seemed to mull over what to say before movement by the door caught his eye. It was probably her _mami_ , or Alex, or both, coming in to check up on the situation, to check up on _him_. Whoever it was, it caused him to slump further into himself, defeat and humiliation washing over and leaving him to look even smaller than before. And for a second, all anger and rage left her… and it _hurt_ to see him that way. But she didn’t do anything besides press her lips into a fine line, and wait for him. Whatever he’d planned to say was gone as his voice wavered in answer:

_“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”_

He made to stand then, but it was obviously difficult and she resisted the desire to help him, wanting to make him suffer a bit longer. She remembers almost laughing at the thought that maybe she was being a little too petty, but at the moment she told herself that she didn’t care. Because she was angry, and hurt, ( _she still is_ ), and she pushed away the idea that the whole situation, the whole sight of him that way, was affecting her a lot more than she allowed herself to admit. So she told herself that maybe she’ll think on it later, when she’s calmer and not vibrating from barely controlled self-restraint.

In the end it was Lydia who rushed over to steady him, uttering soft encouragements as she reached for his arm and hand. Penelope could see him flinch a bit at the touch and she caved, going around to his other side to grab onto his arm so that her _mami_ didn’t have to take the full weight of him in case he stumbled, which he inevitably did. She was a little too forceful as she guided him out of the laundry room, and kept telling herself that she _didn’t care_. _She didn’t care_.

…

It’s not until now, when she’s leaning tiredly against his bathroom doorway, listening to him dry heave into his toilet, that she is reminded to think back and admit that (maybe) her barely controlled anger in those moments was because she does care. A lot. Of course she does! He’s her best friend. Her bestie. (Something she will never admit to calling him inside her head. Especially not to him as he would become smug and unbearable.) And it was painful to see him like that. It still is.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the toilet flushing. Looking up, she sees him scoot back to lean against the wall, breath a little erratic, sweat beading at his temples, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The tremor that’s been there throughout the whole night is still there but it’s lessened, something they’re both grateful for as she grabs the glass of water she had placed by the sink earlier and takes it to him. Squatting to his eye level, she hands him the glass, getting a hoarse ‘thanks’ before he takes a few sips. It’s a struggle; and she sees his face pinch at the effort it takes to simply force the water down and not surge forward to hug the toilet again.

“Need a moment?” Her voice is laced with exhaustion, and for the millionth time that night, Schneider gives her a guilty look; which, for the millionth time that night, she ignores.

“No. I’m good. I think that was the last of it.”

The last of it… _ha_. The last if it, of Lydia’s _sopa de pollo_ , was flushed down hours ago. Now it’s just nausea, and bile, and consequences to shitty decisions made because of shitty excuses that seemed pretty justifiable at the time. But she lets it slide for now, because her only job at the moment is to keep an eye on him and make sure that he doesn’t find any more shitty excuses to make any more shitty decisions. So she stays quiet and does her job.

Going into nurse mode, she places a hand on his forehead to check that he’s not getting a fever again. She inwardly chides herself, her mind telling her that this mini routine she developed isn’t necessary anymore. That the worst seems to have passed, and he’s okay now, sort of, at least. But she ignores that too, remembering Nick’s words after the AA meeting.

…

_“Are you close to Pat?”_

Penelope smirked, heart starting to race as she opened her mouth to say _‘Ew, no. Not like that. I’m completely, 100% available. Why do you ask? Oh, of course! I would love to go get dinner with you.’_

But then she noticed his serious expression, and her face dropped to equal his before he continued.

 _“It’s that Pat mentioned you’re his friend, and a nurse, and…”_ He hesitated, seeming to mull things over before deciding to cut to the chase, voice coming out in almost a whisper.

_“Listen, detox can be a very dangerous thing; especially if done alone.”_

_“Alone?”_

Nick looked back at Schneider, who was staring down into his untouched cup of coffee. A pained expression was formed on his face and Penelope watched as his fingers started to tremble almost imperceptibly.

_“He refuses to check into a facility. Says it won’t be that bad this time around. That it’s not something he hasn’t done on his own before…”_

_One his own… Alone._ That word settled painfully in her chest, _(where it’s still lodged even now)_.

_“And it’s not that I don’t believe in him, it’s just that the detoxification process is something that can go south really easily. Life threatening, at times, and I don’t want him to be alone. Look, I know this is a lot to ask but-”_

_“No.”_ She quickly interjected. _“I can do it.”_

Her determination seemed to surprise him but he quickly recovered, smiling a thanks before digging into his breast pocket.

_“Here. Call me if you need anything. Anything, ok?”_

She took the business card, looking down at it and turning it over before she pocketed it with a nod.

_“Ok.”_

…

And she can still feel it, inside the pocket of her jeans, poking her thigh a bit, as she continues to tend to Schneider on his bathroom floor at 4:08 AM. Her fingers pinch the skin on the back of his hand and she observes as it goes back to its natural position in less than a second. _Still not dehydrated then. Good._ He doesn’t say anything regarding her actions, seeming to already having come to expect them as the night went on; and she thinks that letting her do them has become a mini routine for him as well.

“Can you stand up?

_Woah…_

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

_Déjà vu._

Penelope clears her throat, letting all her memories of the day dissipate as she takes the now half-empty glass from his hands, and steps back to give him some space. It takes him a moment, needing a few seconds to control his breathing, before finally coming up to stand on very shaky legs. The whole moment is unsteady, Penelope having put down the glass and preparing herself in case she needs to suddenly lunge forward and catch him. But it’s better than the second time around, when she hadn’t been prepared at all and his bare feet had stumbled against his haphazardly strewn sweatpants, and he had almost cracked his skull against the toilet bowl. She’s sure his wrist still stings from barely catching himself from also almost cracking his skull against the bathroom floor. After that he had refused to wear any kind of pants at all, opting to only wear his boxers at Penelope’s… insistence.

So there he stands, in his boxers and a cold sweat covered t-shirt. He pulls at the collar of the shirt, meeting her gaze in unspoken askance as she recognizes the discomfort in his posture. She turns, purposefully heading out the bathroom as he follows behind, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head.

Penelope is soon next to him again, offering another shirt. He takes it wordlessly, dropping the damp shirt on the floor next to his bed before pulling the fresh one on. Penelope doesn’t seem to mind; she stopped minding about the growing mess on his bedroom floor after the time came that he could sort of walk around more than three feet on his own without tripping on air.

“Which number shirt is this one?” He asks, not really caring but needing to fill the silence with something.

“I think that’s number…” Penelope looks around, her eyes counting some of the clothes on the ground. “… seven? Maybe nine?”

She sees Schneider almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and Penelope can’t help the amused twitch at the edge of her lips. They look at each other, both enjoying this little moment where the unpleasantness and severity of the night has paused to make room for levity and appreciation for the ridiculous. But it only lasts an instant; and before long Schneider is pressing his lips into a thin line, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry.”

He knows she’ll ignore it again; his words and his guilt.

“I know.”

And she does ignore it, partially at least. Because she knows it helps him feel a tiny bit better about everything if he voices the sentiment out loud; and right now, she’s willing to give him that tiny bit of comfort that he finds in his unnecessary insistence in being apologetic for every little move he’s made tonight. She’s too tired to argue now; she’ll fight him on it later, when they’re both not running on two hours of sleep and about to keel over on the spot.

So she sighs, and steps away from him to shut the bathroom door before going back to the couch to the side of his bed.

“Go back to sleep. Try to get some rest.”

He settles on the side of the bed furthest from her, sitting up against the headboard as he reaches for something on his nightstand and holds it in his hands, fingers starting to move over and over as he stares down at it.

He’s been doing that all night, during the moments he’s not preoccupied with vomiting, or pacing with frantic agitation, or hugging himself in his tremors. His shoulders drop and she watches as some tension seems to leave his frame. There’s an odd, tiny sense of peace that settles around him instead, and Penelope’s curiosity peeks when she realizes that she hasn’t had a chance to ask about it yet.

So she settles down, trying to tuck herself in the corner of the couch before starting the conversation she hopes he’ll continue.

“What’s that?”

Schneider looks at her, not really understanding what she is referring to until she points at his hands. He seems to hesitate, and Penelope starts to think he’s not gonna answer, is about to tell him that it’s ok if he doesn’t want to answer; but then he holds it up and outstretched so she can see it a bit better from her position across the room. It’s small; round.

“Your sobriety coin. The one your sponsor gave you after the meeting?”

He utters a small ‘yeah’ and brings the coin back closer to him, never taking his eyes off it.

“‘To Thine Own Self Be True. 24 Hours.’”

His voice fluctuates in mock grandeur, almost sounding bitter. At what she’s not sure, but confusion takes her over at the moment.

“No offense, but, why did he give it to you already? You haven’t completed 24 hours yet.”

“It’s the surrender chip.” He elaborates. “It’s supposed to represent my choice to surrender to the reality of my addiction, to my choice to get sober…”

“Does it help you a lot? I’ve never seen you react the same way to your other chips.”

And it’s true. She’s seen him find comfort in his sobriety coins before, has seen him take them out of the pocket of his jeans a hold them for a bit before putting them back again. But she’s never seen him like this. There’s a desperation, a reverence that she doesn’t quite understand.

“… I was never a big believer in religion,” Penelope nods at this, understanding the sentiment.  “So the twelve steps never completely stuck with me. The chips helped more, though. They were something I could carry with me, something I could physically see, and touch, and feel. And for some reason…”

She watches him turn the coin a couple of times in his hand. And she remembers a phrase that kept being repeated at the AA meeting. A single phrase that, now that she thinks back on it, seemed to really resonate with him:

 _Recovery is 24 hours at a time_.

“The surrender chip always helped the most.”

There’s a moment of pause where he seems to reflect on something. And he clears his throat.

“You know, I’ve always lost my other ones at some point or another. Maybe that’s why those other attempts never really stuck.”

“Couldn’t you just get another one?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the same. It always felt like cheating, like I didn’t deserve it, like… like I was betraying that moment when I first made the choice to continue to get sober and got that particular chip.”

“That’s stupid.”

Her candor gets a laugh out of him. The first genuine laugh of the night, and her chest lightens a bit, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, yeah I guess it is.”

He becomes silent, contemplative, as he engulfs the chip in his fist and brings it up to his lips, holding it there. He stays this way for a moment and she’s about to ask him if he’s okay before she catches his words, barely audible against the side of his hand, said for no one but himself:

“ _Please_ … don’t let me lose this one.”

The unexpected privacy of the moment makes her uncomfortable, like she’s suddenly intruding on something delicate, something sacred. She immediately looks away, deciding to bring her attention back to what she was doing before and letting the conversation end.

She tucks her legs under her before pulling the throw blanket across her lap and bringing out her phone to pass the time. She looks at the time: 5:12 AM. She can stay up another hour or two to get the kids to school right? _Yeah…_

But the truth is that she doesn’t want to fall asleep again, at least not until he’s asleep first; and Schneider seems to know this: she feels his gaze lift and lower between his hands and her face a couple of times before speaking up.

“You don’t need to stay anymore, by the way.” His voice breaks the silence, and Penelope’s face turns to him as he continues. “The worst is over.”

“I want to stay.”

He nods, breaking eye contact before creating it again. There’s something in his gaze, a need to say words that die on his lips as hesitancy wins over and stops him from saying anything at all. And it hurts her a bit, that he’d try to get her to leave, but doesn’t say anything about it because she knows it comes from a place of worry for her. And instead she insists:

“Sleep. You need to rest.”

“So do you.” He pats the space on the bed next to him. “If you’re gonna stay, at least take the other half of the bed.”

The temptation to accept the offer shocks her in its ferocity; and she truly realizes for the first time that night just how little she’s rested. And she wonders what it would be like to wrap herself in his ridiculously soft, however million thread count, sheets and sleep more than fifteen minutes.

… next to him… with him.

_Woooaahh, what???_

She mentally shakes herself, but it must’ve been done physically as well because Schneider scoffs at her, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, Pen. Look, if you’re worried about sleeping next to a dilf like me,” She barely manages to resist rolling her eyes. “you don’t need to be. I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep for the rest of the night. Probably gonna go channel surf in the living room.”

“Why not just use the perfectly good, _80-something inch_ , flat screen right in front of you?”

“Nah, getting a bit tired of being stuck in this room.”

He grins. But there’s something weird about the emotion in his voice, something fake that she can’t quite put her finger on. She quickly decides to let it slide, blaming it on the fact that the man has had a particularly rough night and maybe he’s just trying to come off as a little bit more ok than he really is.

“Ok, then. I’ll go with you.” She makes to stand.

“You really don’t have to, Pen.”

“No, it’s alright. Whatever my patient wants, he gets. After all, you’re paying for this all-nighter.”

She starts to head for the door, waiting for him to follow suit but he just stays put, continuing to stare down at his hands, fingers still turning the coin over and over and over. Penelope huffs in amusement.

“Hey, Earth to _bobo_. Relax, it was just a joke. I’m not actually gonna charge you for – ”

“You don’t trust me.”

His words shock her, not expecting him to voice them so directly, so out of nowhere. And she realizes that this is what had been on his mind earlier. This is what he had been struggling to confront when he’d first hinted at her to leave.

“ _You’re the only one who’s ever trusted me, Pen._ ”

She swallows and bites the inside of her lip.

“ _All that goes away now_.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” She can’t think of a reply and Schneider smiles again.

Silence settles before Penelope speaks once more.

“It’s not completely that I don’t trust you… It’s just…” She wrings her hands and finds that admitting it is harder than she thought it would be. “… I’m scared.”

Schneider nods, his voice incredibly soft as he says:

“Me too.”

Penelope lowers her gaze, somewhat ashamed even though she knows she really shouldn’t be. They had talked about it earlier, after all, trust. They each understood where they had to stand.

“ _It doesn’t go away. It’s just gonna be hard to get back._ ”

That didn’t stop it from hurting though.

“It’s ok.” He continues. “I get it. I don’t trust myself right now either.”

She head lifts to look at him and he gives her a sheepish look.

“Honestly, I _really_ want a drink right now.”

She already knows this, can see it in the way his leg bounces and his hands tremble. Can see it in the way his face has been flashing out of nowhere, revealing an intense frustration and craving. And it’s been scaring her all night. Terrifying her more than anything: the thought that if she drops her guard, he’ll escape and fall again. _Maybe I can’t handle this part. Maybe it’s time to call Nick._

“But I’ve been fighting this, you know. I _promise_ you I’m doing my best right now.”

“I know.”

This time she says those words with certainty, with a strength she knows they both need to hear. But her confidence seems to fly over his head because he almost interrupts her in his rush to say:

“Then if you know, it’s ok for you to leave now.” His tone surprises her. There’s an attempt at levity, at pleasant nonchalance that loses against the hurt and… accusation?

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

It’s those words that get her to react, to snap a bit, and she almost laughs at that because _what? Schneider you literally admitted a minute ago that you don’t trust yourself right now. What the hell are you trying to pull?_ And anger suddenly grows in her, sending her back on her feet and marching closer to the bed.

“Yeah, ok. Not gonna happen, slick. I’m stayi – ”

“I know Nick asked you to look after me tonight.”

She stops dead in her tracks in front of the bed, struck by his admission. This time his tone is the farthest thing from being an accusation. His words aren’t angry, just… sad. Like his face as he smiles at Penelope’s deer-caught-in-headlights expression.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out, you know. I saw you two talking all secret-like after the meeting. And even though I couldn’t hear what you were saying, you didn’t exactly seem all unicorns and rainbows when he gave you his business card.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not interested in Nick.”

Schneider pffttts dramatically, seeming not to notice the earnestness that settles on Penelope’s face.

“Girrrl, are you kidding me? Have you seen those biceps? Those pecs? Nick can _get it_.”

He huffs out a laugh, averting his gaze a bit before completely looking back away when he notices that she’s not following his lead. And she finally climbs onto the bed, scooting close, sitting back on her legs right beside him.

“Schneider…”

He doesn’t respond, seeming to pretend that he didn’t hear her despite the fact that her voice is the only audible noise in the room right now besides his breathing, which has gotten a little shaky.

“Schneider, look at me.” She pauses, waiting for him. The lamp behind him casts his face in heavy shadow and she can’t completely read his face; so she takes a moment, making sure that she’s keeping his attention before speaking because she needs him to understand. Needs him to see how deadly serious she is when she says:

“I’m not here because your sponsor asked me to be. I’m here because you’re my best friend and there’s no way I’m letting you do this alone. Do you understand me?”

She takes his hand in hers, the one that’s not incessantly twirling and kneading a 24 hour sobriety coin against his fingers, and grasps it tightly, repeating the same words from hours ago, with even more conviction than before:

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

She still can’t read his face, but she thinks that maybe she sees something flicker, some fleeting emotion that’s gone before she can decide whether it was real or a trick of the light that’s barely being reflected off his eyes. She catches him swallow heavily before nodding once and breaking the eye contact, settling back against the headboard. This time she does follow his lead, leaning back on the headboard herself and wincing a bit when the elaborately carved wood digs noticeably into the back of her head and shoulder blades. But there she stays, determined to withstand the discomfort in order to keep their hands interlocked in the space between them.

… And their hands remain there, unmoved. Minutes pass and she keeps her hand in his, wanting to let him be the one to break the contact first, wanting him to take as much solace in the act as he can, as he desires.

But he doesn’t break the contact though, and Penelope soon starts to feel his thumb stroke her skin. Long and slow back-and-forths that almost tickle but also create a soft warmth in her chest. And the silence stretches… the two of them becoming comfortable in the movement of his thumb across the back of her hand; and she starts to think that maybe he wants her to take solace in the act as well, to take as much as _she_ desires.

The warmth in her chest strengthens. It spreads and spreads and creates a peace within her that she’s too tired to fight off. And she shifts, almost involuntarily; her head coming to rest suddenly on his shoulder. The action seems to surprise him because she feels his thumb abruptly stop in a swipe back, halting just above one of her knuckles. There’s a pause, a second or two that feel like twenty as she’s screaming in her head that she fucked it up. _Damn, she fucked it up_. But suddenly his thumb swipes forth, resuming in its earlier path.

Back and forth… back and forth…

And soon she’s lulled into a tentative sleep.

…

“Lupita…”

Penelope groans, fighting the consciousness coming to her as she buries her face into the pillow. A hand comes to shake her shoulder and she sighs, resigning herself to opening an eye to meet the gaze of her mother hunched over her.

“ _Despiertate_ , Lupita. _Ya son las 7:30 de la mañana_.” 1

She gasps and shoots up, her head spinning a bit at the speed. “Shit! School!”

She pushes the blanket off her, also pushing aside the thought that it wasn’t there before, and gets ready to bolt downstairs and get her kids out of bed and into the car and –

“ _Calmate_ , Lupe, _calmate_.2 It’s ok. I already sent Elena and Alex to school.”

“What?”

“Leslie came and drove them.”

She collapses back into the pillows. _Dr. B. Right, ok... Wait…_

“Why was Dr. Berkowitz here?”

“He was worried. He wanted to know how Schneider was doing and said to call him if we need anything.”

Penelope nods. “And the kids?”

“They were worried too. They wanted to come downstairs and check up on you two but I told them no, that they needed to hurry or they’d make Leslie late for his job. I didn’t want them to come down and see something that they shouldn’t see.” She pauses a bit before continuing, “And it’s good that I stopped them because apparently _something_ happened.”

The last statement is said pointedly, Lydia’s eyes flicking with purpose between her and Schneider, who’s lying beside her. In his bed. Which she’s also lying in.

It’s not hard to guess what her mother is suggesting and Penelope almost rolls her eyes when she looks at Lydia and sees the words she’s dying to voice out loud: _Haci que durmieron juntitos, verdad. Tomados de la mano? Abrazados? … Sin ropa?!_ 3

The last part comes to mind when Lydia’s eyes roam all over the floor at an alarming rate, reminding Penelope that Schneider’s clothes are thrown all over the room. Lydia returns her gaze to her daughter, eyes screaming even louder than before, but Penelope just shakes her head and gives her _mami_ a glare, refusing to fall into that conversation with her now. Lydia seems to take the hint and looks away, showing a hint of disappointment at being shut down before becoming serious once more, voice lowering a bit.

“How’d it go?”

Penelope rubs her eyes, enjoying the dull ache in her muscles as she stretches before returning her gaze to Schneider. He’s sprawled on his side, head pillowed on his arm, and upper body practically hanging off the bed as the covers remain kicked out beneath his feet. Memories of the past hours easily come to her.

“It was… a lot.”

She turns her gaze back to Lydia, who nods in apparent understanding.

“Well, at least it’s over now, yes? Now we just need to get him up and dressed and fed. I brought him another bowl of _sopa de pollo_. Leftovers from yesterday which means it’s more concentrated and _even more_ effective!”

Penelope smiles amusedly at her mother, rising from the bed to help her pick up the clothes from the floor.

“Over?” She snorts. “More like it’s still going.”

Lydia pauses in her reach for one of Schneider’s shirts and gives her a confused look. Penelope pauses too, coming close to reach for her mother’s hand. For Lydia’s benefit or for her own, she’s not really sure.

“ _Mami_ , detox isn’t just a one day thing. I know I didn’t really explain it to you last night but, detoxing and its effects can last days, weeks, _months_ even… And it can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

Penelope nods. “Yes. Although thankfully it looks like he’s not prone to the more life-threatening effects of detox, it’s still very important that we keep an eye on him for next few days. He broke into a high fever twice last night. And I had to help him change his clothes like ten times! The man gets crazy cold sweats. Luckily I was able to take care of it and keep him hydrated, but it was still tricky. Poor guy hardly slept at all.” She turns to look back at the man in question and sighs. “Actually, I’m pretty sure this is the longest he’s slept all night.”

“This is exactly why I brought more _sopa_! To give him strength!”

Lydia brings her arms out, showing off her muscles for emphasis and Penelope can’t help but smile apologetically at her mother’s enthusiasm.

“ _Ay, mami_. I’m sorry to tell you this but I don’t think he’s going to be eating a lot of _sopa_ just yet. He spent the entire night having some quality time with his toilet.”

Penelope smiles wider, trying to add a little humor into the situation, but drops it when she notices Lydia’s gaze returning hesitantly to Schneider. Penelope feels her chest constrict at the sadness she can see in her mother’s eyes as she asks:

“Is he going to be ok?”

Penelope stares at her mother for a moment, waiting until she finally looks away from Schneider and towards her to audibly cement what they both already know.

“Not yet. Maybe not for a while. But he will be.”

Lydia nods, gently wiping at the edges of her eyes and successfully preventing any tears from spilling over as she smiles back at her daughter.

“That’s right! That’s why he _needs_ the _sopa de pollo_. Nothing else could possibly help more! And if it refuses to stay down, _se la doy de lavado!_ ” 4

Penelope laughs, hugging her mother close and feeling lighter than she’s felt in what seems like forever. Soon they break apart, Penelope going back to helping Lydia tidy up the bedroom and then the bathroom, much to her _mami’s_ annoyance.

“Lupe, I did not wake you up to do chores. _Anda, vamos._ 5 Go downstairs; take a shower; go to sleep. Do whatever you want but Get. Some. Rest. I left breakfast for you in the fridge if you want to eat.”

“Ok, ok, _mami. Ya voy, ya voy._ 6 Oh! But before I go,” She takes out a small pill bottle from her pocket and hands it to Lydia. “here are the painkillers. Remember, Schneider can’t take any more of these for another three hours. And even then, he can’t take more than two at a time. Keep them with you or who knows how many the _bobo’s_ gonna scarf down before puking them back up. He can’t really keep anything down yet, so just focus on keeping him hydrated. There’s a bucket next to the bed for him to puke in if he can’t make it to the bathro – Oh! _Ay, mami!_ ”

Lydia starts to push her out, muttering ‘mm-hms’ and ‘oks’ while Penelope recovers enough from her indignation to continue with her rant.

“If he starts bouncing his leg a lot, it means he’s getting anxious. Back rubs help him calm down. He’s weird, so counter-clockwise motions help more than clock-wise motions. If he starts getting heat flashes, it helps him to have a wet towel around the back of his neck. I left a bunch of clean ones near the sink in the kitchen. If he needs a change of clothes, he keeps his comfortable clothing in the drawers under the TV. Look in the left ones. The right ones just have a bunch of useless junk in them. Did you know he has a whole drawer dedicated to clothes made out of jean?!”

“Of course he does, it’s called fashion! You wouldn’t understand.”

Lydia shuts the door soundly in her face, effectively locking her out and leaving her standing awkwardly in the room. Out of nowhere she hears salsa start to play, muffle behind the door as her mother starts to sing along and – when the hell did that _viejita_ bring in her radio?

Penelope continues to stand there for a bit, taking a moment to regather herself before looking around for anything she might need to take back downstairs. But soon her eyes land on Schneider lying on the far side of his bed and all previous thoughts fly from her head. He’s still asleep; miraculously, she thinks, after all the noise her and her _mami_ made. But he’s seems to have moved even more over the bed’s edge and Penelope can’t help but huff out a small, amused laugh.

She turns the corner, walking up until she’s leaning close. And she takes a moment to look at him, noticing for the first time the strands of white and gray at his temples and beard. It surprises her that she’s surprised to make this discovery. Of course, she always knew Schneider was slightly older than her; it makes sense that he’d be starting to go gray when she’s already finding strands of it in her hair herself, much to her irritation.

But Schneider has always been so youthful and energetic. So alive. It seems wrong that time should be touching him already. And then it hits her that, _yes of_ course… he is getting old now… and he’s been fighting this same battle for years. And she looks down at him and thinks ‘ _God, how many times has he had to do this? How many times will he have to keep fighting like this?_ ’ Something heavy settles in her chest and she finds herself softening even more as she keeps taking in the sight of him.

“Schneider,” She waits a bit but he doesn’t move, his breath still coming evenly in and out. She’s about to try again when he groans softly, the sound not really coming from his throat but rather a deep exhale through his nose. Her lips twitch in fondness and she’s too deep in her contemplation of him to stop her fingers from running lightly through the hair at his temple.

“I’m going to head downstairs to rest a bit. _Mami’s_ here, if you need anything.”

It takes him a second but he nods minutely, eyes remaining shut against the bright morning light fighting to peak through his window. She stays in place, eyes looking him over once more. He still looks a mess: pants-less and hair sticking in every direction. But this time the grimace is gone, replaced with heavy exhaustion and baggy eyes. There’s a strong scent of sweat in the air and relief settles deeply in her chest.

“Penelope,” Her mother’s hand on her waist brings her out of her thoughts. Her gentle voice speaking to her in tender tones. “Go. It’s ok, _mija_. _Yo me encargo_.7 You go rest.”

Lydia’s touch retreats and it surprises Penelope just how much she was relying on it to keep her standing in that moment. She sighs, and it hits her just how tired she really is, the headache she was pushing back all night finally winning to make itself known.

“Si, _mami_. Call me if you need anything or if anything happens, ok?”

Lydia voices an affirmative on her way back to the bathroom and Penelope turns her attention back to the man laying asleep in front of her. She reaches for the covers, pulling them up a little higher to try and cover the arm that’s hanging over the bed, only succeeding somewhat. She pulls back, her hand softly grazing his as she makes to turn and finally leave but –

“Hey…” The last minute hold on her fingers is weak, and the word is barely rasped out above a whisper, but nonetheless these things root her in place at his bedside. She turns and stares at him staring back at her, watching as a tired smile twitches against his lips. She can’t help but smile back.

“Thanks, Pen.” He keeps his hold, the tips of his fingers caressing the tips of her’s. “For everything.” His touch is light, barely there, but the intimacy of the moment is what throws her for a loop, making a small fire flicker in her chest. And suddenly she’s overcome with the desire to stay. To crawl back into his bed, this time under the covers with him, and hug him close. To hold him and hum _Cielito Lindo_ into his ear while she runs her fingers through his hair and lets him soak her shirt with all the tears he didn’t allow himself to shed all night.

But instead she breaks the contact, keeping the smile on her face until she’s out of his sight, out of his apartment, and heading for hers. Panic grows within her on her way down the stairs, and she doesn’t know why; why that moment of seemingly soft gratitude had her heart racing? Why that moment in the early rays of the sun had her heart clenching harder than the moments spent in the closeness of night? _She doesn't know why_.

But that’s a lie she’s trying really hard to make herself believe. Because her fingers are still tingling from his touch and from the moment. The spark in her chest still breathing as she reaches her door. And it takes everything she has to push it all aside and simply ignore, just like she’s been doing with a lot of things that night.

But if she caves a bit and brings her fingers to her lips, she chalks it up to her tiredness. And if she’s showering and her mind wanders to his smile from that moment, _she chalks it up to her tiredness_. And if she lets herself imagine what it would have been like to actually have stayed with him… well…

She’s already fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish translations:
> 
> 1\. "Wake up, Lupita. It's already 7:30 in the morning."  
> 2\. "Calm down, Lupe. Calm down."  
> 3\. 'So you slept together, right? Holding hands? Hugging each other? ... Without clothes on?!'  
> 4\. Very rough direct translation: "I'll give it to him through a washing." It's an expression that refers to colon hydrotherapy, a medical practice where a doctor cleans a person's colon by sending water through a tube that's inserted up a person's rectum... Basically what Lydia is saying is that if he refuses to keep the food down his throat, she'll stick it up his ass. (My dad used to threaten to do this whenever I refused to eat as a kid lol.)  
> 5\. "Come on, lets go."  
> 6\. "I'm going, I'm going!"  
> 7\. "I'll handle it."


End file.
